For Protection From Monsters
by LondonBelow
Summary: When Raven returns, Charles finds himself torn between his past and his present. Some students look to Scott for answers, while Ororo would rather seek her own. With discord at home, an external threat jeopardizes not only the school but the bonds of those within it. [Stars from Home]
1. Chapter 1

**The usual disclaimer** - if you recognize it, I don't own it.

**A note** - my computer was recently infected with a particularly nasty virus that decimated my documents, so I'm in the process of rewriting this one. I'll be posting more slowly than usual, but here's the story started off at least!

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><p>Scott did not cry out at the needle puncturing his skin, but he made a sound like a puppy who had stepped on a tack. He took a breath and tilted his head back. He exhaled up at the once-white ceiling, looking at the stains and trying to ignore the feeling of a metal stick under his skin. It made his stomach churn.<p>

"Almost done," Hank said.

Hank could teach a chemistry class using the stains on the ceiling. In fact, he once had, fascinating their least science-minded student—Laurie Collins—and completely boring Scott, who saw only red.

The blood draw had nothing to do with the ceiling stains, though. Hank pulled the needle out, eliciting another wounded puppy noise. As the man responsible for the track mark-like scars on Scott's arm, Hank knew that sound quite well. He pressed a bandage over the puncture.

"Thanks."

Scott always said that. He had started it after the millionth time Hank apologized. Scott didn't like labs or needles and over the past few months he had been in here all the time.

Once, Hank used some of Scott's blood for his own curiosity-addressing research. Scott and Alex were the first pair of siblings Hank had ever met who not only were both mutants but had very similar mutations. They were even immune to one another's energy blasts—how could Hank be anything but fascinated?

He emptied the current syringe into a vial, capped it tightly, and labeled it: _March 3, 1964._

Scott slipped out of his chair. He had always hated labs, but he was used to this one. It was Hank's. Scott unlatched the small metal cage and picked up a mouse. The mouse sniffed at Scott's hand and at his sweater.

"I'm going to run another test, but I believe I may have made progress."

"Progress?"

"Small progress—it's a complex situation and, well, it's also an ethically complex situation."

Scott stroked the mouse's head. The animal trembled, but then, it almost always trembled. It trusted Scott. "How so?"

"It's hard to test. I can't just inject you with this serum, no matter how scientifically sound it seems—but your situation is unique. There's no equivalency test on animals unless I can replicate the initial experiments, and that would be… unconscionable," Hank explained.

Scott aged at about half the normal rate. Like many teenagers, however, he wanted to grow up. Having friends around his age only made that desire more potent. He had known Ororo for a little over six months. That was long enough to see that she was growing much faster than he was, that she would leave him behind.

More than that, he wanted the damage out of his body. He wanted his cells to be normal, not marked by years of experimentation.

"I can take it," he insisted. "I'm much better with needles now."

Hank shook his head. "It would be at best borderline ethical. Experimentation on human subjects is the very last stage. If Porthos were like you, he would be my first subject."

Scott cradled the mouse, Porthos, closer.

"Yeah. Scott, look what happened to me. I thought my cure was ready. Exposing someone else to the same risk would be inexcusable, especially a minor."

"I'm not a—"

"Charles says you are."

Scott sighed. He couldn't argue with that.

"And, as the closest thing you have to a legal guardian, he hasn't given consent."

"Oh, come on!"

Hank shrugged.

"What about Alex?"

Alex was almost Scott's little brother, having been born three years later, but he aged normally. So Alex looked like what he was, a man in his early 20s, and was old enough to give consent for medical procedures.

"Alex is the best comparison sample," Hank responded, "but he didn't have the same treatments—if I tested the serum on him, nothing would happen. And he can't give consent for you."

Scott was clever enough to know he had no arguments. It wasn't just because breaking a telepath's rules is just silly. What Hank said was true: Professor Xavier might not have been his legal guardian, precisely, but he was more of a father than Scott had known since he was six years old. Scott didn't want to disrespect him by going behind his back.

Besides, Hank wouldn't. He was even more a rule-follower than Scott.

Scott returned Porthos to his habitat. Hank had finished storing his most recent blood sample. With the lab clean, Scott suggested, "Race you?"

"You never win."

"Maybe today's my lucky day."

"You're overdue for one," Hank agreed.

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><p>Ororo crouched low in the kitchen, bringing herself eye to eye with a plate of cupcakes. Well, she would have been, anyway, if cupcakes had eyes. They had sprinkles. That was similar if you didn't think too hard on it. She ought to know, having helped put the sprinkles on (and eaten a spoonful or six in the process).<p>

"You have not had enough of these?" Ruth asked. She had been a teacher only slightly longer than Ororo had been a student.

"I wasn't eating them," Ororo replied. She and Sean had been helping in the kitchen and plenty of the cupcake batter, sprinkles, and frosting had not quite made it to the final product. "I was just wondering what kind of psycho," a word she had picked up from the boys, "likes vanilla over chocolate."

"A travesty," Ruth agreed. "Because clearly you do not like vanilla at all."

"Not as much."

Ororo knew she was just grouching. If she wanted to complain about vanilla cupcakes she probably shouldn't have helped Sean and Alex eat an entire bowl of batter earlier.

Ruth shrugged. "Well, you have a birthday next month, if you would like chocolate cupcakes—"

"No!" Ororo replied, so quickly Ruth and Sean laughed.

"You know who has the next birthday. I think Sean prefers chocolate."

"I do," Sean confirmed. "I love chocolate."

"See, Sean likes chocolate."

Ororo nodded. "Hey, what about Scott?"

"Leave the boy alone, _habibti_," Ruth told her. Scott did not know his birthday, although he did prefer chocolate to vanilla. Charles had suggested that Scott pick a birthday for himself, but Scott wasn't ready and Ruth would not have him pressured about this over a chocolate cupcake.

Ororo huffed, but said nothing.

Ruth ran her fingers through Ororo's hair, fluffing it out. "Are you going to cut it?"

Ororo thought about that. She had sold her hair before, but that was back in Cairo. Now whether she kept it was a matter of fashion. And wasn't that a new concept! "I don't know," she admitted. "Do you cut yours?"

Ruth's hair was curly and wild and fell well past her shoulders. "Sometimes."

"Or does Charles prefer long hair?"

"Are your legs not burning?"

"They are," admitted Ororo, who was still crouched to stare at the cupcakes. She did not mind vanilla—not really. Vanilla was better than no cupcakes at all. It was the luxury. Not only did she have enough food to eat here, she had enough food not to eat. There was a whole jar of that gross creamy stuff she wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole!

Some American things Ororo had adapted to. Peanut butter was not one of them.

She straightened up. Ruth turned away and Sean, who had been washing dishes until a moment ago, took the opportunity to tweak Ororo's hair. She stomped on his foot.

"Sean, take this into the dining room," Ruth said, holding out a dish.

Over the past months, they had established a routine for dinnertime. Nobody but the designated kitchen assistants went into the kitchen. Nobody had tried since Ruth led Doug out by the ear and threatened to rip it off next time—not that anyone thought she would, but she sent the message quite clearly that she did not appreciate interference with her kitchen. So the others knew what time dinner was and they knew to sit at the table and not offer to 'help' Ruth and for pity's sake, Scott, your sleeve is not a napkin.

Three people arrived in the dining room at once: Sean from the kitchen, Hank through another door, and Scott scrambling through a window. Scott and Hank paused, staring at one another—then Hank vaulted across the room and Scott hauled himself through the window. Hank bounced off the wall ("Hank!") and perched on the back of his chair just as Scott threw himself at his, knocking over both himself and the chair.

They did not have assigned seats, just habits.

There were two teenage students besides Ororo and Scott. One of them, Doug Ramsey, helped Scott pick himself up. Scott didn't need help, but it made Doug feel better. The other, Laurie, who was not much good at science, just rolled her eyes. Ororo narrowed her eyes at Laurie, but they let it go after a moment's glowering.

All told, there were nine people in the house: the teachers, Charles, Ruth, and Hank; the students, Scott, Ororo, Doug, and Laurie; and Sean and Alex, who were students at the local community college and trained with Ruth and Hank. And despite the inevitable circus of so many personalities at one table, they all sat down to dinner together every weekday.

Granted, this occasionally resulted in a pepperoni-throwing incident (Alex), a verbal cat fight (which ended so ugly Laurie and Ororo were grounded for a week), or Coke laughed through someone's nose, but no one complained. The telepath could tell you they all looked forward to it.

Today was special, though.

Today Ruth lit a candle in a vanilla cupcake and Doug thought for a moment with his eyes closed before blowing out the flame.

"And now Charles is gonna eat a cupcake," Sean said, stating what at least two other people at the table were looking forward to.

Charles sighed. "Honestly?"

Sean nodded.

There was something exciting about watching prim-and-proper Charles Francis Xavier shove messy food into his mouth. He could be dignified with cake, but cupcake was another beast.

Charles, seeing how much this would amuse the students, made a show of reluctance. He didn't mind. If the past year had taught him anything, though, it was the importance of playing roles. He did what others needed from him—or small things that would amuse them. With played reticence, he took a bite.

"That was why you asked for cupcakes, right, Doug?" Alex asked.

"I just like cupcakes," Doug replied.

"Charles going frosting-face was his birthday wish," Sean added.

Doug rolled his eyes. "'Course not."

Somehow a conversation about cupcakes spiraled out of control. It had everyone laughing, so that a new arrival took them all by surprise. Charles noticed her first and fell absolutely silent. One by one, the others did, too, half of them registering recognition and others confusion at the blond standing in the doorway, looking like hell.

"Who's—" Ororo began.

Scott shushed her.

Charles's voice cracked the silence. "Raven."

And Doug, a baffled look on his face, said, "That wasn't exactly how I meant my wish."

_To be continued!_


	2. Home

Thanks to kristelalugo, Melissa hearts fiction, booster2051, and guest for reviewing!

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><p>Raven looked at the unfamiliar faces at the table. She knew this house. It was the first place she called home after her parents kicked her out, the place she grew up. When Charles was so excited to move to Oxford, to broaden the world for himself, Raven cried to leave it behind.<p>

Somehow even though she had seen the new additions previously, she had not realized they would be living here. She knew they were Charles's new friends. She just hadn't realized they were his new family.

Now she hid her resentment at seeing these strangers here. A part of her did wish Mrs. Xavier had lived to see a black girl at her dining room table, though.

"Maybe this was a mistake…"

"No!" Charles answered a little too readily and, seeing him, you would have sworn he tried to stand. Nearly a year and a half he had been in that wheelchair. He spent months adapting, learning to live with his paraplegia, even now adjusting to the way people looked at him. Not for one second had he forgotten that chair.

He forgot for her.

Several others looked away, unsure how to respond either to Raven or to Charles.

Ruth cleared her throat. "Whoever is most helpful clearing the table, he does not have to wash dishes tonight."

She may as well have offered cake to a starving man. The four students were on their feet in seconds. Ororo and Laurie put aside their differences to team up. Doug had no such option, since Scott was dragging his feet. Between the group, the table was clear in under three minutes.

In the kitchen, the girls laughed. "We were fastest," Laurie declared.

"You were," Ruth conceded.

"That's unfair," Doug complained.

Scott mumbled something. His words were unintelligible thanks to the thumbnail clenched between his teeth. He moved his hand and tried again: "Ruth didn't say fastest. She said most helpful."

"Very true," Ruth agreed. "This was probably Laurie and Ororo. I cannot expect Doug to help, though, not on his birthday—Scott, fetch your useless brother."

"'S'all right," Scott assured her. "I'm happy to help."

"Boy Scout," Laurie sniped.

Ororo 'accidentally' jabbed her in the ribs going for another cupcake.

Back in the dining room, Alex had also taken the hint. He cleared his throat and tugged Sean away from the table—Sean paused long enough to grab another cupcake—and Hank needed no further prompting either. The room bubbled with commotion and then cleared, leaving Charles and Raven alone. Charles almost wished they hadn't. He missed the warmth of his family around him.

He was worried, he realized. The last time they saw one another, she appeared in disguise, wearing Angel's skin. Today she wore that familiar blond look. It had been her default for so many years. But the time before that, the day on the beach, of course he told her to go with Erik.

Of course.

It had been his hope, the risk he took, that she cared for him more.

Perhaps his trust in her had been as misplaced as his trust in Erik, given the state Raven appeared in now. She was dirty, disheveled, and was that blood matted into her hair?

"Oh, Raven."

He wanted to go to her, to hold her, but of course he couldn't and the last time she touched him she had flinched away. So much more than space separated them. There was time and unwillingness and a total ignorance as to how to bridge such a divide.

"Your room's just as you left it," he offered. "If you'd like to clean up, then we can talk when you're a little more… settled."

"Yeah, I guess I'd better."

She hesitated. He didn't read her mind. He had promised, so long ago, and it had been the most important thing to her even when he lay on the sand with a bullet wound. Even then, she worried about his reading her mind. Now he wouldn't.

Only, he did not want to watch her turn away.

"It will be all right, Raven. You're home now."

Her smile did not reach her eyes.

As he waited for Raven, Charles poured himself a drink and telepathically checked in on the students.

Laurie and Ororo were getting along again. They sat on the floor in Laurie's room; she was painting Ororo's toenails, while Ororo tried not to kick and giggle, her instincts when someone touched her feet. Usually this would not be the younger girl's idea of a fun evening, but Laurie's good mood was literally contagious. Thanks to her power, her feelings bubbled over onto whoever happened to be nearby.

Doug sat in his room, struggling to read his Latin book. It was the sort of situation that would frustrate almost anyone: his ability allowed him to understand every language, and as a result he had great difficulty seeing or hearing things in anything but English. Almost anyone would have been annoyed, but Doug was too good-natured. The steady supply of chocolate chip cookies stashed in his dresser helped.

Finally, Scott and Ruth were finishing cleaning up the kitchen. Charles did not catch what Ruth said, nor what Scott mumbled in return, but it had both of them laughing. She dried her hands and brushed soap suds off his face.

Only a year ago, the house had been empty but for Hank, Charles, and Scott. Charles had been recovering and Scott growing less withdrawn. It had been nothing like this, though. It had not been a home full of friends and family who were happy to be around one another.

What better place for Raven to return to?

"All my clothes smell like mothballs," she announced, walking into the study. Charles had settled himself at the chess board and Raven plunked down opposite him. A shower had certainly revived her, even making the bruise on the side of her jaw seem to fade, and he bit back a comment about the bathrobe. It wasn't about her looks. It was about the three teenage boys who also lived here. He supposed Sean would have resented being lumped in with the students, but he _was_ a month and some shy of twenty.

Instead of commenting on Raven's choice of apparel, Charles asked, "Would you prefer moth holes?"

"No."

"Well then. Do you expect to be here a while?"

"I… I don't know," Raven said. She could take so many forms, but she could not hide the lostness in her face. "I don't know where else I can go, I…"

"You always have a home with me, Raven." Charles resisted the urge to add 'you know that', because it seemed perhaps she did not. He should have been better to her. He had tried, truly he had, but he had been so young even a few years back.

She nodded.

"What's happened?"

Raven nodded again, sniffled, then she sobbed and the whole story came pouring out: "Oh my god, Charles, it's all fallen apart. Erik is gone and he's not coming back, and without him, the rest of the Brotherhood, they're—they're all fighting and no one seems to know what they, what we're supposed to be doing! They're all just fighting to be in charge and we need him back, we need Erik."

Charles thought through this. In some ways, Erik's Brotherhood falling apart was good news. Twice last year there had been some news broadcast that led to the X-Men zipping off to minimize damage as much as possible. Luckily, those times were past. The reason, however…

"So it's true, then," Charles said.

The images were grainy. They didn't talk about it. He hadn't wanted to believe it.

But: "Erik assassinated the President."

"Yes."

Charles sighed and ran a hand over his face. Why had Erik done such a thing? Charles had no special love for politicians in general, but John Kennedy had seemed like a truly good man. Equal opportunities and affirmative action had seemed important in theory, but seeing how attitudes toward African-Americans affected someone he cared about… well, there was a reason Raven chose to be a blond-haired white woman, wasn't there?

So Charles had more and more respect for what President Kennedy tried to do. Not that President Johnson seemed so different, but he did not have the same presence, charisma—there was something about Kennedy.

And Erik killed him.

"Why would he… oh, Erik." There had always been hate and anger in him. Charles had seen that. He had hoped the good might win out, though. Erik wasn't a bad person, just one who had been hurt.

"Guess I'll go settle in, then," Raven said.

Charles recognized the frustration in her tone, but there was only so much he could do. Learning the truth about Erik had been a blow. He felt numb, like he was floating, and like he might be sick. It was easier than thinking he might break down and weep.

Raven needed him, though, so Charles took a breath. "You don't have to look that way. If you want, your… your blue side… the others won't mind. They're used to Hank."

She sneered and he had never seen that sort of ugliness in her. "You mean I won't frighten your new friends?"

"Raven."

"You know, there's nothing wrong about the way I look, Charles."

"I know that—"

"But I won't frighten your students. That's what matters, right?"

"Raven, please. Forget I said anything, all right? I'm just happy to have you home."

"Yeah. Me too."


	3. Lightning and Water

Thanks to kristelalugo, BBFree, and brico4899 for reviewing! To clarify Charles and Raven's relationship, I think of them as friends who called one another family for the simplicity of it.

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><p>"I'm freezing," Laurie announced. She, along with her classmates, was trooping through the woody area Professor Xavier apparently owned. Just how expansive the property was surprised most of them.<p>

She was as well bundled up as any of them. In fact, as a New York native, she was one of the most prepared. All four of the students wore coats, hats, and scarves. Ororo had not thought to wear her mittens and had her hands shoved in the pockets of her pink coat, while neither she nor Scott had boots.

Neither dared complain lest they be subjected to the horror of a shopping trip.

Hank, ahead of them, wore a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He didn't have a coat and wasn't ready for anyone to see his blueness. Charles had offered his stepfather's coat, but although the man had been big, he wasn't Hank. So Charles's stepfather's coat had a tear in the back and Hank had a blanket.

"Raise your feet higher," Hank suggested.

"How will that help?" Laurie asked.

"Increased exertion will raise your body temperature. We're nearly there."

"Oh—we're going to the pond?" Scott asked.

"Pond?" Doug shot back.

Scott nodded. "Sure. Is that where we're going, Hank?"

"Yes, it is."

"Swell."

Doug nudged Scott. "No one says swell."

"Groovy?"

This time he made a face. "Swell suits you better."

Scott shoved him. "Race you to the pond!"

As only Scott knew the way, he had to lead. It didn't matter. He was the fastest runner, even with snow on the ground. The day was crisp and clear, albeit very cold, and a perfect day to be outside. Spring liked to turn in an instant, so the good weather was worth taking advantage of.

Ice covered the pond. Scott skidded to a stop before touching it. Doug stopped short, scrambled, and crashed to his knees. Ororo nearly tripped over him, but Scott caught her.

"Come on, Doug."

Doug took Scott's hand and hauled himself up. "Thanks."

"Well, this looks cozy," Laurie commented.

It was bad timing. Laurie had not had an easy go of it settling in. Coming up on her three classmates in a huddle had to feel more exclusive than anything. Doug hastily moved away, but Ororo shrugged.

"You're warm," she told Scott. "Africans aren't built for snow!"

"That's an interesting remark, Ororo," Hank commented. He resettled his glasses and looked at the four of them.

That morning, Professor Xavier canceled his classes. There would be no math, English, or ethics discussions. Hank taught science, but Professor Xavier taught genetics. Ororo and Doug worked primarily with Ruth on controlling their powers, but Laurie and Scott worked with Professor Xavier and assumed there would be no such lessons today.

It wouldn't matter so much, except that the same thing happened yesterday and they hadn't even seen Charles or Raven. And the first day most of the kids enjoyed their free time. The second, Hank put a stop to it, sent the students back to their rooms to put on outdoor gear, and told them they were going for a walk. Now four sets of eyes watched him—three visibly—awaiting an explanation.

"Skin color, hair color, and eye color are determined by a pigment called melanin," Hank explained. "One thing melanin does is protect us from harmful effects of sunlight. So groups evolved to warmer climates, more sun exposure, generally do have darker skin—for example, Ororo and Professor Xavier, respectively from warm and cold climates. Although her lessened resistance to cold is actually an adaptation to warmer temperatures that can be reversed within a few years. You'll adjust.

"Every trait we can observe serves an evolutionary purpose. Look around you and you'll spot a dozen evolutionary mutations. We're here to observe. Find something. Consider or discuss what you observe and what purpose it might serve. If you can bring something with you, you may, for our group discussion. If you find a trait but can think of no purpose it might serve, that is also fine."

"Are you going to be teaching us now?" Laurie asked. There was no disrespect in it. The shake-up around the school had none of the kids happy. Ororo and Doug minded the least. Laurie just disliked change and wanted to know what would happen.

"I'm a substitute," Hank replied. "Professor Xavier will be teaching again soon."

The students glanced at one another. Then Scott turned and knelt by the pond. He pulled his shirt sleeve over his hand and scrubbed at the ice.

"Want it melted?" Ororo asked. "Lightning would do a trick."

"No!" Hank, Scott, and Laurie chorused.

Ororo's eyes widened and her cheeks reddened. "Well what's the problem!" she huffed.

Laurie opened her mouth, most eager to correct the younger girl, but Scott got there first: "Can we work in pairs, Hank? Me and Ororo?"

"Sure."

Scott grabbed her hand. "C'mon. I had an idea—over here…"

He glanced over his shoulder once, just to make sure Doug had taken the cue to work with Laurie. He had. That left Scott free to drag Ororo off. In truth, the idea was vague—something about pine trees—he just wanted her away from Laurie. They could talk about lightning and water later.

Scott was not able to fully participate in the lesson. What could he add, later, when the others talked about the dark shades of green they noticed? Instead, he thought about the Professor. Hank said that some plants almost hibernated in winter. Maybe that was what the Professor was doing.

He had done something similar last year, just after bringing Scott here. At the time, Scott had been glad. He had been new and shy and none too keen to talk to anyone, and that was all he thought about it. Now he wondered if this was normal? A normal hibernation?

Everyone else was thinking the same and Scott knew it. Nothing was the same with Professor Xavier conspicuously absent.

Even dinner was subdued, a looming absence without so much as an empty chair to fill it.

Alex and Sean were 'cooking' that night—picking up pizzas on their way home from school, and Alex didn't bother with formalities at the best of times. Today he slid the boxes onto the table, shouted, "Dinner!" and grabbed a slice. He didn't bother with a plate, either.

"Classy," Laurie commented.

Alex guided the pizza to his mouth with a single finger.

His manners and unasked questions aside, the meal passed in relative peace.

Scott didn't like it. They weren't allowed to miss meals, not without a good reason—if you were sick or you were crying or you were Hank and busy in the lab. Initially, the rule meant, 'Scott is not to hide from everyone else and live off of sandwiches', but no one could deny the benefit it had. They were all together and (relatively) happy.

And now Professor Xavier was gone. He was here, but didn't want to be around them, and that stung Scott. It made him nervous. Professor Xavier wasn't supposed to disappear, ignore the rules. He was supposed to be steady.

Scott caught himself chewing his fingernails and stopped. It didn't matter. Everyone ought to have a break, and they weren't going to pieces. And it didn't mean Raven mattered more than him.

Not that she shouldn't. Right? Because when he came right to the raw core of things, Raven was the Professor's sister. Scott was just some orphan boy he pitied.

Ruth closed her long fingers around Scott's wrist. She had good circulation, he thought. Warm hands.

"You are bleeding," she observed.

He had been biting his nails again.


	4. Standing and Conscious

Thanks to kristelalugo and Melissa hearts fiction for reviewing! I appreciate it (and would also totally choose Scott over Raven). Charles and Raven's relationship will indeed be addressed as the story progresses.

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><p><em>Erik.<em>

_Erik, answer me._

Finding him had been difficult. When he first used Cerebro, Charles needed only remain standing and conscious—and even the 'standing' bit ceded more to his dignity than necessity.

Hank's clever machine had not been built for a telepath. How could it be? Hank had not known at the time that telepathy existed. No, he built the machine to amplify his own intelligence, to enhance what his own mind was capable of. It didn't work that way. He had then modified it to find others, when a complicated test no one else seemed to understand revealed exceptional brainwaves.

It had never worked for anyone but Charles, though. It likely would. Emma Frost, he supposed, might be able to use it—over his dead body—but only Charles had thus far. The machine needed a mind already capable of superhuman feats.

Nevertheless, seeking a certain type of brainwaves and searching for an individual were different tasks. The strain of not only controlling his own power but his own amplified, mechanized power was like a tear in Charles's brain. Sweat rolled down his face.

After Raven arrived, seeking out Erik seemed the rational step. Charles managed to focus on that one mind and issue what he hoped was a telepathic whisper.

Erik did not respond.

He sent only emptiness, the incredible self-control of keeping his thoughts blank.

His mind had always burned hot with anger. Erik was intelligent, too, but it was the anger that defined him, that made him who he allowed himself to become. Given what he did, he belonged in prison. He was still a friend, though. He always would be.

"Oh, Erik, what have you done?"

Later, Cerebro would become more impressive. Now it was a dull metal helmet in a room of wires—Hank's paradise. Charles wiped the sweat from his face.

This was the morning after Raven arrived, the morning he first canceled classes. He sent a telepathic message to Ruth and Hank that they could do as they liked. A day off wouldn't hurt the children. As a private school, no one forced them to observe holidays, so three-day weekends were a touch rarer. Of course a group of rowdy teenagers would love a free Wednesday.

He went to see Raven.

She had slept in her blond form and not brushed her hair. Charles did not recognize the skirt and blouse she wore, but that didn't mean much. Keeping Raven out of the shops had been a major chore of his young life and in the end she needed very little in the way of clothing. Her skin was thick, her feet hard, and the most she really needed was raingear. The rest she could produce as though part of her body.

Likely she had done that now. He found her in her room, curled up in an armchair.

"So this really is a school now," she said.

Charles nodded. School had never been Raven's favorite thing. She claimed she wasn't smart. In a way, that was true. Her intellect never rivaled Hank's or even Charles'. Her unwillingness to study was the real problem, though. School bored her.

So he understood that she might have doubts about coming home to a school.

"Not everyone is involved with the school. Alex and Sean…"

"No, they wouldn't be."

"I only meant that if you intend to stay here, you won't be out of place."

"That's what you want, isn't it?" Raven asked. "For me to stay here?"

Charles understood from her tone that he would have a rough time of finding the right thing to say. Raven was upset, and when Raven was upset everything was wrong.

"Is that so wrong of me to want?" he wondered.

She sighed. "I guess not. Things were different with Erik. He understood me and that's something you've never been able to do."

Again he wondered what he was supposed to say. In a way, Raven was like Laurie. They were proper American girls with concerns and troubles he simply couldn't understand. He wanted to, but he was a genius telepath, not a miracle worker!

"I hate seeing you like this."

At first, Charles didn't understand. Then, "It's not so bad. I'm used to it, anyway." The wheelchair was a part of his life. After a year and a half, he wasn't angry anymore. Even—to his surprise—at Erik.

Raven leaned forward, nearer.

"Don't you remember who you used to be?" she asked. "You were going to be a professor. A breakthrough researcher. You were going to—"

"And you were going to be with me," Charles cut in. For years, they were inseparable. Only in retrospect did he realize what a strain those years must have been on Raven, the amount of time spent hidden, lying to so many people she met. She had genuinely cared for him, though. He cared for her, too.

"You changed, Charles."

"Maybe."

The strange thing was that, even as they grew up, Raven never showed signs of developing independence. She could have. Charles would have seen to it that she had all the financial support she needed, had she chosen to pursue a college education. He had tried talking with her about careers. He had never stopped her from dating—been a touch protective, perhaps, but not stopped her.

It had made the loss doubly hard. He never thought they would part ways, especially not like that.

As happy as he was to have her home, he found himself worried she would leave again—or that she would see how he had changed and not like it. Raven and Erik both called him out for being different, for lowering his expectations of himself. Charles had never seen it that way.

"Charles…"

Raven's face crumpled.

"Charles, I just want to feel safe again," she whimpered and burst into tears. "I just…"

Her appearance shifted, patches of her skin turning blue, then pale again.

He couldn't help her. Suddenly his earlier remarks about the wheelchair were untrue, because his inability to go to her, to hold someone he loved, just about broke his heart.

He just needed to be alone.


	5. What Nebraskans Do

With thanks to kristelalugo for reviewing!

Merry Christmas and Hanukah sameach :)

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><p>Alex had two textbooks open on his desk and a draft of an essay half-scribbled in his notebook when the knock came. He was happy enough to step away. Schoolwork didn't come naturally to Alex. He worked hard at it and did well, usually.<p>

In a way, he considered himself a student. It wasn't just his power. It was also his studies. It wasn't just the kids who struggled. Sometimes Alex needed Charles's help, too.

Sometimes he just needed a break.

"C'mon in." Alex held the door for Scott. He saw the look on his little brother's face, but that wasn't new. Scott didn't like the mess. He didn't like the laundry pile, the candy bar wrappers, he definitely didn't like the empty beer bottles—but he kept that to himself.

Alex offered a bag of Fritos. He liked to snack while he studied.

"No thanks. I was hoping you could tell me about that lady from the other day."

"Raven?"

Scott nodded.

Alex realized no one had bothered to explain Raven to the kids and he knew who they would look to. Officially, Scott was fifteen years old, which made him the second-youngest. Only almost-fourteen-year-old Ororo was younger.

Maybe because Scott had been around the longest, maybe because he showed leadership in dangerous situations, the others would look to him. It was no secret he was closer with the adults than anyone else was. Alex understood that Scott came to him for an explanation.

"Have a seat. The bed's pretty clean, just sit, okay?"

Scott nodded and settled on the bed. He crossed his legs Indian-style, then thought better of it and shifted to lotus—not a challenge when gym class meant agility and martial arts training. Alex spun his desk chair and sat facing his brother.

"Okay. Raven isn't a bad person, you've gotta keep that in mind. We were friends. She was like a kid, though." He thought about that day at the CIA, the day he broke the statue, how Raven hadn't understood when they were all in trouble. Or the look on her face when she realized humans hated her.

Those were moments of innocence. Raven, despite her age, had been a little childlike. It was her choice to go with Erik that tainted Alex's opinion of her. No one filled Scott in on the details of that situation and Alex wouldn't be the one, either.

For a moment, Alex just watched Scott, trying to decide how much to tell him and from which truth.

Alex was fairly new to the big bro game. He knew a few things. He knew that he always sided with Scott, unless it was just the two of them, just like he could beat the snot out of the brat but God help anyone else who tried. But this was about the work of tweezers and Alex was a hammer.

"Raven is Charles's sister. And she saved Hank's life. She doesn't always make the best choices, but this is her home. You're a Nebraskan, Scotty, so you do what Nebraskans do. Be polite. Mind your manners. Go down in the basement and ride out the storm."

"The basement—"

"The basement is a metaphor."

"Of course, because there are no tornadoes in New York. Are there?"

Alex chuckled. "Who's your best friend?"

"You are. Or… maybe Hank."

"Okay—but think younger. Smaller. Lighter hair."

Scott's brow furrowed. "Ororo can't make tornadoes. Not that I know of, anyway. Raven doesn't sound like Professor Xavier."

"I don't think they're biological siblings, but he calls her his sister and he's protective."

Scott leaned forward and lowered his head. Alex had the impression that his eyes were closed, though of course that was impossible to judge with Scott.

"Were you there for what happened on the beach?" Scott did not know the details of that day. He only knew the term, 'what happened on the beach' or 'that day on the beach'.

Alex nodded. "We all were."

"Even… her?"

Another nod. "That was the day everything changed. Raven and Erik left. Charles wasn't the same, obviously, he—uh—that was when…"

Seeing his brother struggle for words, Scott offered, "When he was crippled?" Maybe because he hadn't known Charles before, he had no trouble saying it. Or maybe because he all but worshipped the man and thus anything associated with him was fantastic. For Alex, though, Charles had changed—had been broken.

"Yeah."

"She left before it—"

"After."

"After?"

"Right after. I shouldn't have told you that," Alex realized. "Look, it was a complicated situation. A lot had happened. Don't tell the other kids about that, okay?"

Scott nodded. He wouldn't tell them. "It was Erik. That's right, isn't it? Alex, I'm not stupid, when he showed up last year you couldn't get me out of the room fast enough." That only took about a nudge, but there was a reason behind it.

"Yeah. Erik you need to worry about, but Raven's harmless. She probably just wanted to come home."

"So she isn't dangerous?"

Alex thought for a moment. Raven was his friend, but there was a lot of distance between them. Maybe he trusted her with a secret, but not enough to tell Scott to drop his guard.

"Maybe. Just be careful."

Scott nodded. "I will."

"Now buzz off, I got work to do."

"Yeah, yeah." Scott hopped off the bed and made his way to the door. He paused for a moment, though, his hand on the doorknob. "And don't call me Scotty."

"Whatever you say, Scotty."

"Jerk." Scott gave a rude gesture to the back of Alex's head.

"Twerp."

"'Night."

"G'night, Scotty."


	6. Most People

Thanks to kristelalugo, Melissa hearts fiction, and booster2051 for reviewing!

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><p>On Thursday evening, after two days of Professor Xavier's absence, Scott convinced Ororo to discuss their philosophy assignment. Again. They hid from the wet weather, curled up as close as they dared to the space heater in the sitting room.<p>

"Do you think he'll remember?" Ororo asked.

"He'll remember," Scott said, sounding very sure for someone afraid he had been forgotten. "The assignment was, is it better for a leader to be feared or loved."

Philosophy assignments often involved reading a piece of text, but sometimes, as with this one, they were simply assigned a question to consider.

"When I lived among the Maasai," Ororo said, "they loved their leaders more than feared them, but they had many traditions I couldn't understand."

"Like what?"

As far as Scott was concerned, his childhood had been normal. There was the orphanage and the experiments and the day his eyes started exploding—but there was also a yellow school bus (back when he saw yellow), Sundays at church, snow days. Ororo's childhood fascinated him, but he rarely asked about it. He had a tendency to put his foot in his mouth when he tried.

Apparently today was no different. "Girl things. But I would have to be very, very afraid to go along with stuff."

Scott mulled this over. As he did, he thought that this was very close to the radiator. He was actually beginning to feel warm and wriggled back a few inches.

"Weren't you in the desert?"

"Yes."

"Don't you need other people in the desert, to survive? I mean," Scott hastily amended, "don't most people."

Ororo walked into the desert and walked out the other side. She told him so. Given the way she called and banished rain in the blink of an eye just to show off, he believed her.

"Well… of course."

"So, in a way, those people who led the Maasai—they were feared. They didn't have to be bullies."

Ororo went quiet for a moment and Scott saw something flash across her face. She knew he was right. That was why she went to shove him, but he dodged. Ororo unbalanced and would have fallen against the heater, but Scott caught her.

She shrugged him off.

"Well, what about you? You have a leader you love."

"President Johnson?" Scott asked. He had been known to snicker at the name from time to time and certainly respected the man, but he wouldn't say he loved the President.

Ororo rolled her eyes. "No, stupid."

"Don't call me stupid, I'm not stupid."

"Professor Xavier."

"I don't—he's not—but he's not my leader, he's…" Scott trailed off, looking for the end of his sentence. The Professor was not in any official capacity his guardian, but he was the nearest thing to a father Scott had. Did that make him a leader, then? He was the school principal…

Accepting that Professor Xavier counted as a leader, Scott realized he had experience with both sorts. He wouldn't say he loved the Professor—he wouldn't say it, but it was true, wasn't it?

A memory arose, unbidden, of early in his time at the orphanage. He remembered that he was only about seven years old but he understood that Mr. Milbury was a bully. Milbury was the man in charge. He had taken a special interest in Scott, near as the boy could guess because of his powers. And sometimes Scott had dragged his feet, had cried, had looked at Milbury with the most intense hatred a small child can muster. That time he hadn't, though. He didn't know why it happened, but he remembered Milbury slapping him so hard his head hit the wall and everything went tilty.

"Loved, then," Scott ceded softly.

He pulled his knees up to his chest. The trouble with memories, they were like pulling an apple from the bottom of the pyramid. The others fell. Other days, other punishments—some he deserved—and the way his stupid, weak voice felt crying for his mommy.

"Um, Scott? You okay?"

_Stop whining, you worthless little—_

"I'm fine. Cold."

_Your mother should have got rid of you._

"You looked up the answer, didn't you? About fear and love?"

He nodded.

"What's his name? Nico?"

"Niccolo."

"Niccolo," she repeated, over-emphasizing the first syllable. "Fancy pants."

"I'm not being a fancy pants, that's his name. Anyway, he says both are best, but it's safer to be feared. Like, if people fear you, of course they'll do what you want. Love is for helping people, not protecting yourself. And… if they're too afraid, they'll… they'll fight you or run away or something. You know why we study this stuff, right?"

"Because Professor Xavier says we have to."

"No, because we're mutants. Most people won't ever have to make big choices like the ones in the book, but being mutants—well, like the others do. One day we might go. It's because he wants us to be able to make good choices."

Ororo rolled her eyes. "You're such a geek," she told him, though she made it sound like a compliment.

"So that's what you do here?"

Ororo and Scott turned, each instinctively shifting closer to the other. They had been too involved in their conversation to hear someone approach. Now they noticed, now that she had announced herself. The woman stood in the doorway.

'The woman'.

Scott stood up. "Hello, Miss Raven."

"That's what you do," she repeated, "he tells you how special you are because of your powers?"

"We learn what our powers mean," Scott replied, picking his words carefully. "How to use them. Mostly it's a school."

Raven nodded. "So how does it work?" she asked. "Some guy shows up on your doorstep and tells your parents you're a mutant?"

Scott glanced at Ororo, more than a little ashamed that she wasn't who he wanted here. He wanted Alex. Alex protected Scott. It wasn't often he needed protecting and this was the first time Scott remembered wanting his big brother to help him… or admitted that Alex was his big brother.

Raven made him very uncomfortable. She was oozing anger. He didn't understand why, though he knew he was caught in the crossfire.

Ororo volunteered for this one. She climbed to her feet. "My parents are dead. Professor Xavier and Ruth came to see me in the orphanage."

"Oh…." Raven looked like she had been punched. And, at the thought, Scott noticed that her bruises seemed much faded. It was strange, though. Alex said they weren't biological siblings, so mustn't Raven have lost her parents, too?

"I control the weather," Ororo continued brightly. "What can you do?"

Scott realized she wasn't speaking as she normally did. Her voice was a little higher, a little brighter—she was manipulating the situation. He admired that she thought of it and how well she did. He couldn't.

Raven, the Raven they saw, melted. Her skin turned blue and scales grew; her hair shortened.

Ororo merely raised an eyebrow, but Scott quickly looked at the floor.

"Yeah. This is my true form, so—"

"Oh, he doesn't care that you're blue," Ororo explained. "He doesn't like the…" She motioned to her own, less developed chest.

"Ororo!"

"I mean, he likes them—"

"Ororo!"

"—but here in America they want them covered."

"Better?" Raven asked.

Scott risked a glance at her. She was still mostly naked, but now wore a t-shirt and shorts over her blue form. He nodded. "Thanks. It's not that I don't—I mean, of course you have nice—I mean—uh…" He looked at Ororo, because if not for her, this was the point at which he would excuse himself. But Alex said that Raven could make dumb choices and Ororo was only thirteen. Scott couldn't leave her alone.

"Are they real?" Ororo asked.

"Ororo—"

"Your clothes," she clarified. "Are they real?"

"Um… no," Raven said. "I can make my skin look and feel like cloth, but I can't make it colder, so if it's something like a coat or shoes it's easier to just wear them. Just in case. You know how some people can be about exposing our powers."

From the way she said 'some people', it was clear she meant someone specific. Scott could guess who. He refused to play along, though. He didn't like her jabbing at Professor Xavier like that and if she wanted to insult the man who had saved his life, he wasn't going to make that easy on her.

Ororo asked, "Are you going to stay here, too?"

No matter what Alex said, Scott hoped not. He didn't think he liked Raven much.

"I think so."

…well, crap.


	7. One in Ten

Thanks to NaomiBlue, kristelalugo, and Melissa hearts fiction for reviewing! And Scott is indeed a prude-but he grew up in Omaha in the 1950s. He can't help it. ;)

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><p>Saturday morning found Scott, Ororo, Hank, and Doug in the lab. An eclectic host of substances cluttered the table before them: Elmer's glue, starch from the laundry room, a pitcher of water, a mixing bowl, a mixing spoon, and all the food coloring in the house.<p>

"How much glue do we have?" Hank asked.

Ororo gave the bottle one last shake. "Almost three cups."

"How close?"

To say her studies were remedial, relative to her age group, would be an understatement. Fractions and the imperial system of measurement were fairly new. So in response to Hank's question, she frowned at the measure cup, looking for an answer.

"Two and three-quarters cups," Scott offered.

Ororo jabbed an elbow into his ribs.

"We need equal amounts of water and starch," Hank reported. He reached for the water pitcher.

Doug took this cue to measure out the starch and Scott scrounged up a rubber scraper to get as much glue as possible into the bowl. Ororo, meanwhile, played with the food dyes, pouring yellow and red drop by drop into the glue.

"It'll dilute," Doug warned.

"Dilute."

Although she had lived in the United States for less than a year, Ororo's English was very good. She understood nearly everything said to her. This was an exception, because she had no idea what Doug meant.

"The color will become lighter when we add the starch and water," Hank explained.

Ororo shrugged and added more food coloring.

It did, indeed, dilute. The substance changed, became thicker and stickier, like wet bubble gum.

"Groovy," Doug said.

"Gross," Ororo said. She meant it as a positive.

Scott saw what Ororo intended a moment before she did it, just enough time to duck out of the way. A splat of orange slime hit Doug's cheek instead.

Doug had no poker face.

He grinned.

Ororo swore.

The next thing anyone knew, she was hiding under a table in the entryway. It wasn't a very good table, not useful for much, not even a hiding place for anyone any bigger. Scott sheltered by the stairs, while Doug hid just around the corner. As for Hank, he did not hide at all. Instead he dangled upside down in the center of the room, the wooden bowl cradled in his arm.

Ororo hurled a glob of slime at him.

Hank dodged and turned to retaliate. The look on Ororo's face gave him a clue as to what happened behind him. She aimed across the room, but Scott was faster.

Slime hit the back of Hank's head. "Hey!" he protested.

Another glob hit his shoulder. The stuff was cold and slick, but completely harmless, even at that velocity.

"Ingrates!" Hank cried, all in good fun. "Cowards! Show yourselves!"

The room erupted in slime hurled in every direction, interrupted when a carefully pitched voice cut through the laughter: "What's all this? Hank… get off the bloody chandelier."

The slime stopped, laughter died down, and the students emerged from their hiding places. Hank flipped to the table directly beneath him, then to the ground, not spilling a drop of slime as he did. They regarded the Professor uncertainly. Really he had been gone for only a few days, but it was so strange that none knew what to expect.

He looked pleasant enough. "And what's this… stuff?"

"A liquid polymer," offered Doug, always happy with a new vocabulary term.

"Is that so."

"It's science," Ororo said, which was true, "and we were using the tactics Ruth said about," which was a massive stretch, "so we were studying."

Charles nodded. "Indeed."

Ororo seemed the least bothered by his disappearance. He supposed that made sense: she learned long ago not to rely on adults, so they could not let her down. From Doug and Hank he saw confusion and concern.

He had known where his greatest challenge would lie. Scott looked at the ground and had a nail in his mouth, though given the state of them Charles wondered how he had anything left to chew.

He drew in a breath to speak.

"We should clean up," Doug said. "Ororo?"

"Why me?"

"Because… because you're smaller and I said so," which prompted a round of laughs. He was big, but as tough as jelly. Nevertheless, Ororo and Scott followed him to retrieve cleaning supplies, leaving Hank and Charles to talk.

The two men headed into the next room.

"How are you?" Hank asked. It was not a formality.

"I'm all right. How have you been?"

"Fine."

"The students?"

"Everyone's been fine. How's Raven?"

"She's all right."

"Despite how things were between us, Raven mattered to me. Maybe not… how she wanted to, but…" Hank wasn't stupid. He wasn't particularly clever in social situations, but he knew Raven had been flirting with him and he cared more about his experiments. That must have stung.

Charles nodded. "She knows that, Hank."

What Hank said next came as very much a surprise: "Ruth thinks she's been sneaking around. She ran into Scott in the kitchen last night."

"That's not uncommon."

"She said he caught a glass with his right hand."

"Scott is a fifteen-year-old boy, there isn't a sport under the sun he won't play."

A hungry teenager catching things was scarcely remarkable. More remarkable, to Charles, was that Ruth would say these things about Raven. He heard her voice in Hank's memory—_it is a good test with Scott. Only one person in ten is left-handed._

But why would Ruth have tested him, anyway?

Charles shook his head. "This place has changed since she lived here. If it was Raven, Scott makes a good disguise. He's quiet, he fits in here. Raven's trying to adjust. Ruth never should have done that and you shouldn't be encouraging her."

Hank disapproved. It was written all over his face.

Before either of them had a chance to speak, they heard a shriek from the other room. Hank bounced back and grinned. Charles needed a moment more, but he didn't worry.

He needn't have. Ororo's head was wet and soapy and she and Doug were grappling. Apparently even cleaning up slime was fun in the right company. The two knocked over a bucket of water, prompting an objection from Scott—"Some of us are trying to clean here!"

Ororo and Doug paused, looked at one another, and reached a conclusion. That was enough of fighting each other.

Scott didn't stand a chance.

—

Charles spent a good deal of free time in his study anyway and found that, on Sunday night, he had quite a lot to do. His students were nearly a week off schedule. Oh, he knew that was his responsibility, but his plans needed a little altering.

A part of him regretted the school now. He pressed the kids to the back of his mind, the ones who would have been lost—Doug and Laurie, confused; Ororo and Scott in orphanages—but Raven. His first promise was to Raven and the school took him away from her.

Now he only needed to focus, but focus eluded him. He reviewed his syllabi. Things that seemed so aggravating and pointless as a student made good sense as a teacher, kept them on track.

Or, in this case, helped them make up for falling behind.

Over the past few months, Charles found himself appreciating syllabi. He needed to keep track. Why, then, could he not just focus—

A knock at the door and Scott stepped into the room. "Um, Professor? Glad I found you."

Charles raised his eyebrows. Casual suited Scott poorly. At least, faking casual suited Scott poorly. What was actually going on? He didn't have time to sort this out.

"I've spoken with Ororo and she'd as soon sleep in 'stead of doing philosophy, and Hank said he could help me with math for a while. So. Okay, now you know—good night—"

Scott started to leave, but Charles called him back:

"Wait."

Charles motioned to one of the chairs at his desk and Scott looked away. It was a poor ruse, a child's ruse, like he had been looking that way the entire time and couldn't have noticed.

"Don't sulk," Charles said, an accusatory edge to his tone.

"I'm not sulking."

"Scott, you're fifteen years old—"

"No, I'm not."

"As you seem to recall exclusively when you don't like what you hear," Charles retorted, "but you're a teenager and you are my student and whether you like it or not you will listen to me. Understood?"

Scott's brow furrowed briefly, then he nodded.

"I can't have this right now. I can't have this attitude from you."

Scott nodded. "I'm sorry, sir."

The slip threw both of them. Scott took refuge in respect. He used to overuse it as an alternative to honest interaction and Charles would never take that away, but he had forbidden Scott from saying 'sir' when he was afraid.

He was afraid now.

He wasn't terrified, but he was nervous enough to chew his thumbnail. Nothing was permanent in Scott's world. Everyone had a breaking point, everyone tired of him.

"It's just that there's a lot of us now," Scott persisted, "and you don't have to do everything yourself. I thought—when I first came here, you had all that time. You took care of me. I don't want to take that away from her."

And he could do his class planning in the mornings, more time for Raven without butting his head against a brick wall trying to explain algebra to Scott. He was a diligent student but simply couldn't seem to grasp the concepts.

"I can help Ororo with reading, too. She said that would be okay."

"That would be helpful," Charles agreed. "Thank you."

Scott nodded and left.

For a while, he read a lot of children's books from the local library. Because he was a minor, he needed a parental consent form to check out anything else. They were simplistic and silly, almost sweet with the way children had parents and homes and always a happy ending.

Scott sort of liked that, but he doubted Ororo would. The difference between them, he thought, was that Ororo could pretend in reality so why would she want to with fiction. He remembered how she talked to Raven, affecting innocence when he knew she was messing with the woman.

Scott wasn't like that. He tried to be what people needed, because he wasn't Ororo and he couldn't pretend.

For now, he went back to his room and grabbed his sneakers. He padded to the front door in his socks, not bothering with the lights. When he left, he shut the door gently.

The weather wasn't pleasant and it was dark out, but the world made more sense when he ran.

And wasn't breaking the rules, not really. Curfew said he had to be home by nine and he was supposed to check in with the Professor if he left, but he was staying on the property.

Besides, he had the sense no one would notice.


	8. Looks, Brains, Athleticism

Thanks to kristelalugo and Melissa hearts fiction for reviewing!

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><p>There were three classrooms at the Xavier Institute, plus the grassy lawn and the padded end of the bomb shelter which were used for gym class.<p>

Hank used his lab. He had repaired anything repairable by now, replaced the rest, and kept anything potentially dangerous away from the students.

Charles used an old sitting room, made up like a Socratic gathering of comfortable chairs.

Ruth counted herself a traditionalist. The desks may have been built from flat packs, but they were desks. Last summer, she practically had a work crew with Sean, Alex, and Scott jumping at the chance to build things. (They had been less keen to help clean up.)

Ruth had desks. She had maps on the walls. She had a blackboard. But seeing as they hadn't any bells, she kept an alarm clock and that was what signaled to the students that class was over.

"Before you go I want to talk to you about tonight," she said.

Laurie, Doug, and Ororo looked to Scott. He shrugged. They expected an answer from him, but he had no more answer than he had provided for the limp and bruises he showed up with that morning.

"You all know that Raven, Professor Xavier's sister, is staying with us," Ruth began.

Only Charles was addressed that way. Ruth was Ruth and Hank was Hank, but Charles was Professor Xavier. Normally the formal address made Ruth feel a twist of giddiness. She called him that in bed sometimes; it made her laugh and that made him smile. English people don't laugh. Not in bed. Not with someone else there.

Today the name was simply a fact.

"Eventually he will introduce her to everyone. He is sensible, so he will do this all at once, and that means at dinnertime. Tonight, tomorrow. I am telling you this now because you deserve to know, because this is your home. Some of you have a little more experience with new arrivals," she said, nodding at Scott. He had been the first student and so needed to adapt when the others arrived. To Scott, even Ruth was a new arrival.

"Maybe you have less experience. We are mutants, yes? All of us. We are here together. All of us know what it means to be alone, so all of us will help Raven feel welcome. All of us will remember that we are welcome, too. Okay? Good? Good. Now you can go."

Laurie, Ororo, and Scott did, but Doug hung back. "Are you all right?"

"I am fine, thank you."

Doug frowned. "No… no, you're not," he observed.

"Doug." His name was a warning. Ruth shook her head.

"Oh. Right. Sorry, Ruth."

Doug read other people's body language well. All he needed was to touch on the right general subject area and he would know what was bothering Ruth. Just because he could know did not mean he had a right.

* * *

><p>Ruth was right about dinner. They set an extra place and Raven arrived to fill it.<p>

Actually, Raven arrived to fill Sean's seat, so Sean took Ororo's and Alex took Scott's. Ororo grinned and bolted for Ruth's seat; Scott took the new place. Doug evaluated the room and noticed that Raven looked a touch hurt and anxious, maybe because no one had sat beside her. So he did.

Sean nudged Alex.

"What's up?" Alex asked.

"What's with the dejected look?"

"I'm not dejected. I'm reading. Just let me finish this chapter."

Alex wasn't reading. He was mimicking his brother.

Doug raised both middle fingers.

"Douglas!"

"It wasn't me, Professor, it was Alex," Doug replied.

Charles looked baffled, but given everyone else's laughter, he understood that he had stumbled upon a group joke.

"It won't happen again," Doug added.

Hank arrived, taking his usual seat.

"Not playing?" Sean asked.

Hank shook his head. "Can't. I am inimitable."

"So what's this game?" Raven asked.

Everyone looked to her.

"What? I can't play, too?"

"You might have an unfair advantage," Alex said.

"It was Raven, wasn't it? Your name? I'm sorry, I don't think we've really been introduced," Scott pitched his voice to be heard over the laughter. He shot a warning look at Alex. Of course he knew Raven's name; he had used it before. But someone needed to remember his manners.

"Yeah," Raven said. She had chosen her blond form for the evening, even though most of them had seen her blue.

Charles offered, "Raven is my sister."

Laurie rolled her eyes. Could that have been any more obvious?

"Really?" Scott asked. He turned to Raven. "Want to trade?"

Her tone was a touch ungenerous, almost a sneer as she asked, "Trade what?"

"Brothers."

It wasn't often Scott made a joke, but this one earned a round of laughter.

"Shut the f—ront door!" Alex cried.

"Who's your brother?" Raven asked. She looked at Doug. He and Scott were the only boys she had not met before.

"That'd be me," Alex said. "Obviously there's a lot that doesn't run in the family. Looks, brains, athleticism…"

"Hey!" Scott objected. "I'm good at soccer and baseball."

"Like I said, brains. Do I really need to mention your ball-handling skills?"

"Soccer is hands-free," Scott replied, though from the blush creeping across his face he understood exactly what Alex meant. "And—Mom?" he appealed to Ruth. "Professor? Come on, you would never let me talk that way at the table."

"You never talk that way at all," Alex shot back. "Hey, someone wanna pass the um… yellow stuff?"

"Couscous," Ororo informed him, passing the bowl.

"You're a couscous."

She burst out laughing.

"What'd I say?"

She was laughing too hard to explain. Finally, Ruth supplied, "Kus is a rude word in Hebrew. Ororo knows this."

"What does it mean?" Sean asked.

"It means 'oh dear, I appear to have lost my umbrella'," Ruth said.

"No it—" Doug began, but a look from Ruth silenced him. Doug's mind automatically translated everything into English, so he had not heard the Hebrew word at all.

"So this is who that, uh, robot went after?" Raven asked.

Suddenly the only sounds were cutlery against plates as everyone remembered that day. They knew now that the thing had been built to find mutants. It found Ororo, Scott, Laurie, and Doug while they were away from the school, which was as frightening to the teachers as the students, albeit in a different way. Now they were protected; Hank built a device that shielded them from whatever it was the thing searched out.

It didn't make this any more comfortable to discuss, though, as Charles explained: "Raven, time and a place, all right?"

"All right," Raven replied, her voice jangling. "Just thought you'd want to know they're still at it."

Laurie's fork fell, clattered off the edge of the plate and crashed to the floor. The other students looked equally upset by the knowledge.

"We'll discuss this later," Charles said, "I think that's enough."

"What do you mean still at it?" Ororo asked.

"Ororo."

"Why does everyone say my name that way?" she asked. "What do you mean still at it?"

"I mean they're going to start building those machines again," Raven said. "You thought they would stop? What, did you think they were only pretending to hate us so much—"

"Enough," Charles snapped. Then, more gently, "Raven, please. They're children."

Laurie pushed away from the table and began to cry. Ruth cast a filthy look at Raven, then followed Laurie out of the room.


	9. Plans

Thanks to kristelalugo and Melissa hearts fiction for reviewing!

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><p>A telepathic call invited adult members of the household to Charles's study. After the mild disaster of dinner, he knew Ruth would need a bit of time and had waited before sending the request.<p>

Raven arrived so quickly she might have been lingering in the hall. Her blond form melted away as she entered, replaced by her natural one.

Alex and Sean arrived together. They had been studying together since starting school a few months ago. As far as Charles could tell, that meant cussing each other out and joking around, one more excuse to hang out.

They both nodded greetings at Raven, Alex's a little more reserved. But then, Charles reasoned, Alex was a little more reserved. He talked more than Sean did but he didn't say more.

Ruth, meanwhile, said plenty without speaking. The look of disapproval she shot Raven may actually have dropped the temperature in the room ten degrees—and Charles thought in Celsius.

He gave the slightest shake of his head while Raven's attention was elsewhere, a silent request: Don't antagonize.

Ruth raised an eyebrow. They did not use telepathy to communicate. They did not need to. Her meaning was equally clear: You think I'm the bad guy here?

Well, wasn't she? Raven was obviously trying. Ruth could have been gentler with her.

Once Hank reached the study, however, none of it mattered. They had more important things to discuss, namely, "Raven," Charles began, "I'm sorry for interrupting you, earlier. Talking about what happened with the—the robots," powers were one thing, but robots were slightly more difficult to accept, "it's only that sometimes, for the children, it's upsetting. I know you only mentioned it because you had something to say."

Raven shrugged. "It's something we were looking into before Erik was arrested. We… they're re-creating the plans to build those machines. We would have stopped it—the Brotherhood would have stopped it—but everything fell apart when they took Erik…"

She shivered at the mention. Clearly, of all of this, Erik being arrested mattered the most to her. She brought them news of the plans, she didn't like that, but every time she mentioned Erik it was like watching a piece of her heart chip off.

Charles understood. Watching his two dearest friends take such a dark road hurt him, too. Sort of like watching Raven now, in pain, and being unable to comfort her.

"You want to steal the plans?" Sean guessed.

"That could be beneficial," Hank offered. "I can block their signals, that helps."

He had most of a broken robot and had more or less recreated it. However, Hank only had what was left after Scott, Ororo, Ruth, and he himself tore into the device. Many of the electronics had been damaged by lightning. The core systems were protected, but what Hank could only assume were extraneous pieces were fried.

"But that's assuming significant variation between the current plans and the last."

The previous plans had been stolen when the X-Men and Brotherhood together invaded a facility, destroyed their crop of robots and stole the plans. It had not been an easy task, though. Alex nearly died in the attempt.

Was just a threat of future violence worth another try at taking the plans?

Raven shook her head. "No," she said, "taking the plans isn't enough. We don't know who's behind this, but as long as they are, there'll be no stopping it. It's not just the work. We need to send a message."

"Dear Jerks," Sean imagined the letter aloud, "please stop trying to kill us. Thanks!"

"I mean a real message," Raven retorted. Her tone changed, her pattern of inflection—they may have been her own words, but they sounded like Erik's.

"She wants to kill somebody," Ruth stated.

Sean's jaw dropped.

"Who?" Alex asked.

"The architect," was Raven's reasoning, "the man behind all of this."

"Engineer," Hank said. "The man behind it will be an engineer."

"Whatever he is, he's the problem. We need to show that we will not stand for this, that mutantkind is protected!"

And every word, to Charles, was a knife through the heart.

Was it really so long ago he found her in this house, lost and alone? They were children then. Just children. They were innocent, alone until they found each other, and she was the first person he loved besides his parents.

When had she become so dark? When did she become someone who advocated killing, and did so with enthusiasm? She wanted them to… oh, Raven…

"We can't just kill someone," Sean said.

"Yeah," Alex agreed.

"This is survival," Raven insisted. She argued to Alex and Sean, though they both looked to Charles. "This is fighting for our kind, this is battle—"

"Enough," Ruth snapped. "Enough. You," directed at Raven, "are a foolish child and if you truly think this a battle you have never seen one." Ruth had. She didn't need to say it; she had reminded all of them, in the way she spoke, the way she held herself, that she was a soldier. She had literally fought for her people's survival, at least for the little parcel of land she believed would ensure it.

Now she shook her head. "I will not be a part of this and I have not trained the rest of you so you can."

Charles trained their powers, but Ruth trained their bodies. Because of her, Alex and Sean knew enough martial arts to hold their own in a brawl. Even Hank had picked up a few moves.

"You don't even want to talk about this in front of your children," Raven returned.

She was ready to be mean, Charles heard that much in her tone. Raven was mean when she was hurt and there was nothing he could do. Normally he could go to her and at that moment Charles wanted nothing more than to do that. Even more than he wanted this situation undone, more than he wanted the students to be safe, he wanted to go to his sister and hold her.

He couldn't, though. That was simply the way of things. He was broken; he couldn't.

Raven continued, "But you're okay with one coming back, taking them? Because that's the next step. Next they test it, Emma heard them—they take a human and a mutant, and they see that the machine knows which to kill."

Alex twitched. His hands were clenched in fists at his side. Charles did not need telepathy to know what he was thinking. Alex liked most of the students well enough, but if anyone threatened his brother… and that was what he heard now.

"Emma's a liar," Sean said, surprising the others. "What? She is. She's a liar. And she freaks me out, she's a little too into it when she fights. Remember?"

He nudged Alex, who nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, she is."

"She just wants to kill someone."

"Do we have any right doing this?" Hank asked. "I see your point, Raven, I do, but we can't kill someone over something they might help another person do—we can't stop science. And if they knew it was us…"

"This is an act of war," Ruth concluded for him. "Killing does not protect you. Declaring war on humankind, because we are not them—no. I want no part in this."

Frustration crossed Raven's face.

"Enough," Charles said. "Enough."

The others did not have to agree with her, but he wished they wouldn't go so far. They were going to upset her. Raven had always been that way—volatile—and things were already difficult for her. Coming home must have felt like defeat.

"I think we can all agree that killing is… unnecessary."

_Wrong_, his mind shrieked at him. _Killing is wrong._ But he didn't want Raven to think, just because he disagreed, that he sided against her. No, there were no sides.

"We have this information and with it we can be more vigilant. I'll do what I can to find out who's behind all of this, I think they will be the key to stopping it. Hank, there must be a limited number of people capable of designing these things, you'll look into it?"

Hank nodded.

"Good. Is everyone satisfied with that?"

He could see it in their faces: no one was satisfied with that. No one argued, though. They understood the dismissal and went on their way. Both Raven and Ruth hesitated, but when Ruth raised an eyebrow at her, Raven decided to move on with the guys.

Charles sighed. He should have known Ruth would wait, should have been grateful, he supposed, that she did not run her mouth in front of Raven.

When she closed the study door, however, he realized this was about something else.

Ruth stepped around to the opposite side of the desk. She did not wear perfume. He had noticed that about her some time ago, like he noticed now how quiet the study seemed, so quiet he heard the raindrops plinking on the roof and they were on the ground floor.

She tasted like cherry ChapStick when she kissed him. Smelled like soap and old sweat, but in a nice way—like herself. It wasn't what Charles was used to with women, but he liked it, the feeling that what she gave was herself. It was rather thrillingly intimate.

All the same, he pulled back before kissing turned into something more.

Usually, he did not mind something more. He liked something more. He needed to talk to her, though, and even though it would kill the mood, mentioning his sister after would seem… wronger.

"Wait. I need to ask you for something—a favor—be kind with Raven. It's been hard for her."

"I will not kill someone—"

"No, of course," Charles interrupted. "Of course not. I only want you to understand that this is an adjustment for her."

"Yes," Ruth agreed.

He sighed. "You look at her like she's some… monster."

"Monster? No. Threat, perhaps."

"Don't be petty."

He couldn't lose Raven again. He didn't know that he could bear it.

"I do not trust this woman. I will be… polite… but she is here with my children and she is lying to you. Do you read her mind?"

"Don't call her a liar."

"Do you read her mind?"

"I—she's my sister! No, I don't need to read her mind. She's a little lost, that's all."

"But you do not know this, Charles. She works with Erik; Erik is cold anger. Is catching. I will keep watch of her, nothing more."

He shook his head. "Don't do this, Ruth. Don't—you know nothing about Raven. You're jealous."

He knew the words hurt from her reaction, the way her body stiffened. She was upset—but all she knew was that he spent more time with Raven than with her. All she had to dislike Raven on…

"What?"

"You're upset that I spend more time with her than with you."

Ruth drew in a sharp gasp of air. She hesitated, then, "I love you, Charles Xavier. But do not for a second think that I need you."


End file.
